


such joy found at dawn

by aplethoraofthings



Series: but what happens next? [2]
Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, rated T for indulging in eichi, the implied wataeikeirei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26047963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aplethoraofthings/pseuds/aplethoraofthings
Summary: Keito finds himself on the balcony off Eichi’s bedroom at 5am, watching the sun come up over the distant sea.
Relationships: Hasumi Keito/Hibiki Wataru
Series: but what happens next? [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/900372
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	such joy found at dawn

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally the epilogue to a MUCH filthier wataeikeirei thing hat I was working on, but that is unlikely to the the light of ao3, so i've posted this a head of it to inject some watakei into the tag.

Keito finds himself on the balcony off Eichi’s bedroom at 5am, watching the sun come up over the distant sea. If he concentrates, the wind carries a faint scent of salt, contrasting the chocolate notes of his high quality coffee. He takes a sip, letting the warmth melt away the early morning chill, and watches the distant oranges and pinks slowly dye themselves yellow and blue. For once, Hibiki’s birds are a pleasant accompaniment to his tranquil morning, even if they’ve flocked to perch on the exact balcony he’s enjoying his coffee on, twittering in harmony to make something that some might call music. Behind him, the french doors click shit, and on cue birds stop and fly onto the owner, except for the one that Keito had been absentmindedly petting with the back of one finger.

“Shouldn’t you still be asleep?” Keito asks as he glances sidelong at Hibiki. He clearly hasn’t even washed his face yet, traces of sleep lingering in the droop of his eyelids and the drool by his mouth. Despite this, the long strands of mercury Hibiki calls his hair have artfully sprung forth from his great whale tail braid in a style he often claims to be “influencer chic”, and the gentle fondness in his smile is so bright--the sun burning beside them is all the more cold; the fingerprint shadows that dapple his neck all the more deep.

“Should I?” His voice is rough, quiet, as if threatening to break. He sounds worse than he did last night. “But there’s nothing more romantic than watching the run rise with my beloved rival!” 

“We’re not rivals. I wasn’t the one that felt the need to... _exhaust_ myself while indulging in Eichi’s pain fetish, so I can be up at 5am. Go get some proper rest and stop interrupting my morning.”

“I’m only interrupting, not ruining?” Hibiki replies, and takes a sip of coffee. His coffee. Bastard. “My my, I’m growing on you faster than I thought. In any case, I am no ordinary human, and so an early bedtime was perfectly sufficient for recuperation. Though I must ask: did you like the movie? I’m afraid I was so bored by it that I fell asleep during the opening credits.”

“You should ask someone who watched it. Or rather, don’t ask anyone at all, because your voice is in shambles.” 

“Shambles?” Hibiki cries hoarsely, then hops up to sit on the balcony railing, putting pressure right where his bruises should be. Keito can’t help but wince. “Nonsense! Even a voice tired and wrecked can sing, and there are some songs that can only be sung when one’s vocal chords have been pushed to their limits! The damage adds character!”

“Do you need to sing right now? Can’t you just shut up and enjoy the sunset for once in your life?”

“Song is a necessity! I sing to my birds every morning~ Unless you’re offering to take my place?”

“I don’t care about your birds.”

“Yet you are petting Jeanne so sweetly?” The bird in question turns at the mention of her name, but instead of looking at Hibiki she pokes her head around Keito’s hand to stare at him. Keito stares back.

“If you’re capable of singing, then sing. Considering that you can’t even speak normally, just take the opportunity to be quiet and save me a headache.” 

“But of course I can speak normally,” Hibiki says, returning to his usual obnoxiousness. “There’s so little that I cannot do, Keito-kun, for there is still so much that I do not know! But that is a different matter. Are you not an idol? If you are, then this should be as easy as breathing. Of course, I will be scoring you at the end.”

Keito rolls his eyes but straightens up. He probably owes Hibiki this much, and it’s best to take the offer instead of having it be lorded over him later.

“I’ll only do this once, so if they only listen Russian Witch House or something equally obscure and obnoxious, you should say something.”

“Oh no, they listen to anything--Opera, metal, enka; the sky is but the starting point. If you do Miracle Dream Traveler I will gladly accompany you.” He pulls out a mallet and bangs on the stained glass top of the patio table. The birds acting as shoulder pads for his cape don’t flinch, but Jeanne finally flits out from under his hand to her place on Hibiki’s shoulder. His set of birds complete, Wataru hops off the railing to spin his way to the couch, adopts the posture of any over eager fan, and produces a pair of cyalume to complete the look. Instead of acknowledging him, Keito starts into the B-side of Akatsuki’s first album, keeping time for himself by tapping against the railing. Hibiki joins in at some point, having pulled his flute from somewhere in his pajamas, and they trade lines in the pre-chorus as if they’ve practiced for this.

The melody ends when the sun finishes cresting the horizon, and before Keito can take a breath there is rapturous applause from his audience of seven, the fervor reminiscent of an Akatsuki live down to the random women screaming _shoot me, Keito-san!_ and _if I throw my panties on stage will you lecture me?_

Keito scowls and the birds come to a halt, though Hibiki’s clapping still echoes long past the cue to stop. He says something, too quiet for Keito to hear, then tries again, tapping his fingers against his throat. Keito comes too quickly to sit beside him on the couch, and Hibiki takes his hand, looking at him with a crinkle in his brow and a tremble in his lips. Before he knows it, his hand has replaced Hibiki’s to hold his throat. Hibiki guides him past the shadowed reminders of the damage he’s done (yet again), up to cup his chin, and they pour into each other too easily. 

_Ah..._

It’s Hibiki that breaks away first, but Keito can’t help but chase, overcome with the need for one more, once more. Each time the kiss is deeper; each time the taste is different: chili, chocolate, carmel. It takes both hands pushing on his shoulders to convince him to pause, and he looks down at Hibiki, who stares back with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“Keito-kun…” It’s breathless, on the verge of breaking, and to Keito’s ears it sounds a little painful. He pulls himself up and off the couch, Hibiki following in one fluid motion like he’s the one about to go on the chase. Somehow, he can't quite bring himself to look him in the eye, insead taking his mug from the table and drinking the last few swallows that have gone cold. 

“So my spell worked! Thank you very much for your assistance, Prince-san.”

“...You could speak the entire time, couldn’t you?”

“Of course not, of course not! I needed a magical kiss from a Buddist prince to restore my voice to its former glory. Of course, you were welcome to take more from me as payment for your service,” he tilts his head, looking smug and sidelong, all traces of surprise and fluster lost to the bright dawn behind him, “and take you certainly did.”

“Bastard.”

Wataru laughs, but it’s more of a long wheeze with shaking shoulders, a perfect echo of Eichi’s.

“Come on, your voice is clearly dying. Some tea with honey would do much more for you than stealing my coffee.” 

“Mr. Right-hand-man, are you concerned for me~? Well, it’s not like you’re wrong, and these birds do need their breakfast...myself included, of course.”

“Please don’t eat birdseed again.”

“But to my bird brain it looks oh-so-scrum-delumptious! I suppose it’s up to you, Hasumi-no-Keito-kun, to guide me safely to food befitting a human.”

Keito scoffs and ignores the hand offered, only to find that the doors to the balcony have been locked. They don’t budge no matter how hard he rattles the handle. A long sigh leaves him as he presses his forehead against the cool gold of the french doors reaching back to take the hand he ignored. Their fingertips brush, then their fingers slot together, and the moment their palms touch is the moment the doors swing open and--

And then Hibiki has an arm around his waist, the only thing keeping him from eating Tenshouin carpet.

“Careful there, Keito-kun. An idol’s charm is their face, so it would be bad if someone--or something--other than me were to break it.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
